


The Bard's Song

by Cyan (vehicroids)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And Keith is useless and gay, In which Keith is a witcher and Lance is a bard, Keith Mini Bang 2017, M/M, The Witcher AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehicroids/pseuds/Cyan
Summary: A witcher’s life was a lonely one indeed. Keith never allowed himself to get close to anyone, for his own sake mostly. It was a shame, such a shame, that he encountered someone who managed to change his mind. And now, Keith was running around for a bard that had strummed his way into his heart.





	The Bard's Song

**Author's Note:**

> I hate AO3 and I hate posting fics onto this stupid site wherein I have to sit here and wrangle the damn--
> 
> Hello! :D First off, I'd like to thank [Tye](https://perichat.tumblr.com) for beta'ing! She's a sweetheart, 10/10.
> 
> Secondly, I'd like to thank [Tachi](http://tachimon.tumblr.com/post/175896106488/a-piece-for-the-bards-song-written-by) for the art! :D
> 
> Thirdly! This piece is for the [Keith Mini Bang](http://keithminibang.tumblr.com) \- if you haven't checked it out yet, do so!
> 
> Fourth, and last - don't forget to follow me on [Tumblr](https://vehicroids.tumblr.com).

Keith was three when he last saw his birth family. His father had a habit of getting himself into trouble. He was cocky. Thought he could solve the village's drowner problem by himself. Unfortunately for him, drowners lived up to their name. Fortunately for him, however, a witcher had noticed the commotion and saved him. As monster hunters by trade, it was no trouble taking down the drowners. Witchers never worked for free, and Keith's father had no money.

“Go home, and bring me the first thing you see,” the witcher instructed. “That will be my payment.”

The first thing his father saw was Keith, and thus Keith was the witcher’s reward. From a young age he endured years of harsh training, until he was old enough to undergo the trial. But this was 40 years ago, despite still feeling and appearing like he was twenty. He supposed that was the upside to the mutations.He did not age. Did Keith resent his father for his choice? No. This was his destiny, even if this wasn't what he would have picked for himself. He considered himself happy enough, content in a life of travelling from town to town.

He saw many things in his years of travels, and perhaps a small part of Keith did envy the normal civilian life. But he also did not envy the hardship that came with relationships, or being _normal_ . He had the company of fellow witchers. That was enough for Keith. If he was lonely, it wasn't difficult to find someone for a night. Witchers didn't have _feelings_ , anyway, according to the masses. Whatever Keith felt wasn't real, and thus he shoved it in the deepest corner of his mind.

His trade was a dying one. While monsters were still very much real, people believed witchers to be the real monsters. Keith supposed they had a point, but not every situation was like his own. Most witchers came as orphans, giving them a better shot at life. It was for the best for the children who were turned, good for Keith's wallet, but not so good for people who needed help. It wasn't his problem. He wasn't one of those lobbying for a ban on the creation of witchers.

Keith didn't discriminate with his clients. As long as they had the gold, he would take on the job. His only discrimination was on the bounty. He would never take on a job to kill someone. Keith didn't interfere in society. He knew better by now. Regardless, accusations floated around that he had committed regicide. He hadn't, and thankfully, no one important believed it. For now anyway.

He had just completed a bounty -- a simple werewolf terrorising the nearby village. Their coin jingled in his purse, heavy with peasants gold. A silver sword through the heart was enough to stop that threat, and Keith had tied its head as a trophy to the saddle of his horse. With every step, the head bounced, and Keith pulled a face as he felt it. Not much bothered him, but even he could say carrying a body part was a little much.

The rain filtered through trees, droplets pouring over Keith’s armour, soaking through the gaps. He shivered, trying to shake away the cold. Red kept walking though the soggy ground, her hooves sloshing with every step. Eventually, he would reach the town, and he could spend his hard-earned gold at the inn he was staying at and warm up. He looked forward to collapsing in a warm, dry place for once. Daylight was waning however, and he would need to get moving.

Despite tiredness settling in, Keith kept his wits about him, focusing his senses on his surroundings. He couldn’t sense anything in the darkness, not just yet, and kept going. The rain dulled his senses a little, the droplets muffling sound, making the area smell damp. If anything was out there, Keith couldn't hear it. For now, he was in the clear. He didn't stick to the path when travelling. It wasn't safe, but Keith was far more likely to encounter a job off the path. He knew where he was going. Not much further before he reached the town, thank the Gods.

A scream pierced the silence, and Keith led Red in the direction of the sound. Someone clearly in distress, or a monster mimicking the cry of a human. Either way, Keith wasn’t going to let this chance slip by. As he got closer he heard the familiar screech of a wraith. Fuck, he hates wraiths. He pulled a vial from Red’s satchel, wraith oil, coating it on his sword for a quicker kill.

He spotted the wraith as it was charging, letting out another horrible wail. The sound of Keith jumping off his horse caught its attention, and it stopped in its tracks. It charged for him instead, its face distorted in rage. Except unlike whoever it was going for, Keith was ready.

As soon as it got close enough, Keith cast a circle around it and himself, trapping it inside. Realising it had no choice but to fight him, it fought for its life. Unfortunately for the wraith, that was how Keith fought too. It rose its claws at him, swiping for him, aiming for his face. He hissed, rolling into a dodge, slashing for it. His sword scraped past it and it wailed, swooping down for him.

The seal broke, leaving the wraith free to disappear. Keith looked around, waiting, and the wraith appeared behind him, slashing into his back. He cried out, back arching, but this was no time to feel pain. Keith turned on his heel, stabbing his sword straight into the wraith’s heart. It stopped and, with a final cry, it vanished into a puff of smoke, its ashes sitting by Keith’s feet.

Keith sighed in relief. He wiped his brow. and sheathed his sword. He knew whoever it was chasing was still around, likely hiding away from their untimely demise. Now it was a simple matter of following the trail of heavy footsteps filled with rainwater they left behind. It wasn't long before Keith found someone hiding behind a tree, dressed in deep blue and clutching a lute.

Great. A fucking bard.

The bard’s eyes were squeezed shut. He muttered to himself either a prayer or a poem about the Gods. It didn’t matter which. Keith rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. The bard opened his eyes, which were somehow bluer than his clothes. He broke into a smile, grabbing Keith's hands, who only looked at him horrified.

“Thank you so much! I thought for sure I was a goner there. I don't even know what happened--”

“You went to a forest at dusk and provoked a wraith. That's what happened.” Keith jerked his hands free.

“Oh. Uh... I guess you're right. Anyway, my name is Lance. And if there's a way I can repay you--”

“You could start by _paying_ me.”

Lance looked at him curiously, eyes darting up and down. He hummed, eyes settling on the medallion on Keith’s chest, and he clicked his tongue, almost annoyed. He tried to smile, but it was too late. Keith knew what people thought of him, and he wasn’t out to make friends.

“Right. You're a witcher. Fine, take me home and I'll give you extra. I don't have my coin purse on me.” As if to prove his point, he turned his pockets inside out.

Ugh, this guy…

“Fine. You'd better stay quiet, bard.”

“My name is--”

“I know.” Keith whistled for Red, who came cantering over.

Keith helped Lance onto the horse before hopping on himself. Gods, he was looking forward to the comfort of the inn. A warm bath, and a bed to rest his weary joints. He was still young - but he felt so old. Lance looked to be around twenty, spritely and young. Keith did envy that, but that wasn't his life. He knew where his path was.

As they made their rather slow journey back to town, Lance idly strummed his lute. Keith felt his blood pressure rise. He never liked bards, and he certainly wasn't going to start liking them now, even if Lance was a pretty bard. He wondered just how _against_ the code murder was - humans were not monsters, after all - but he forced himself to shake off that thought. Knowing his luck, Lance was a Lord's son, and Keith didn't want to die by hanging.

The moment Lance opened his mouth to sing, Keith considered pushing him off the horse and leaving him there, but he did like the coin. He bit his tongue and focused on guiding Red back to the inn. Lance's voice was soft, quiet, and Keith made a special effort not to listen to him. But despite the low volume, it was so hard to ignore the young bard. Keith didn’t want to call Lance’s voice captivating, but...

He told tales of love in his songs, beautiful women he had once been with. Lance played his lute, moving on to stories of brave heroes and funny buffoons, songs he had likely written himself. How many times had this guy been saved for him to have more than one song about a hero? Lance was useless.

Lance had a pretty voice, and Keith could at least say that much. Despite his irritation, he found it to be a little soothing. This was the kind of voice he could fall asleep to at night, the kind that would quell his nightmares. That was kind of the point of a bard, Keith supposed.

Lance directed him to where he was staying, which happened to be where Keith was staying too. Of course. Fate was trying to pull something. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Keith tied Red up outside, leaving her with food, and Lance waited for him before going in with him. They walked up the steps to the rooms together; Keith still wanted his coin.

“Just a second,” Lance said, before going in his room.

Keith was left standing there, closing his eyes to listen for Lance. He was rifling and rummaging, muttering to himself. With the click of his tongue he opened a drawer, then went back to the door. He smiled at Keith, holding out a sizeable purse full of coin to him.

“Here you go. I hope that's enough to cover everything,” he said.

Keith took the bag and weighed it mentally. It felt like more than what even the son of a Lord would pay. This guy was generous. “Thanks. It's enough.” _More than enough._

“Um…” Lance fiddled with his hands, uncomfortable. “I'm performing here later tonight, if you're interested.”

Keith shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.” A polite way of saying _fuck no_.

Before Lance could try to convince him with the charm of a bard, Keith left. He had his own shit to do, like change out of his armour, get washed, and get some sleep. But yet, as he bathed, he found himself unable to think of anything but Lance. It pissed him off. He had a stupid smile and a nice voice. This was precisely why he hated bards. This wasn’t the first time one had gotten under his skin like this.

Keith told himself he wouldn't go to the performance. He would go straight to bed like he promised. Of course, that didn't happen, no matter how much he wanted to relax. Which was how he found himself at the back of the bar, taking gulps of his mead as he watched Lance from the corner of his eye.

No wonder Lance was a bard. He was captivating, to the point of having the attention of the entire inn. Lance was looking around as he sang, some tale about a prince who turned into a monster, and his gaze found Keith. His heart stopped, and he gulped. Their eyes locked for a moment, soft blue looking into vibrant violet, before going back to the rest of the crowd. The smile on Lance's face felt far more genuine now.

Keith stayed for the whole performance, because he was useless and gay. He kept his eyes on his mead as much as possible, trying not to think about the cute boy who kept looking over at him while he sang. Now wasn't the time to be so soft. Come the morning, Keith would be moving on to the next town, and forget all about Lance. He wasn’t out for meaningless sex, not tonight, anyway.

The performance ended and Keith lingered behind, just in case someone thought he was just there for Lance. He was, but that wasn't the point. He bought himself another drink and took a swig, the cool alcohol burned his throat and numbed his body. Much better. Soon he would return to his room, the comfort of a bed--

“Hey.” Keith looked up, only to see Lance grinning at him. “You turned up. You mind if I…?” Lance looked at the seat opposing Keith, then back at him.

“If you want,” Keith shrugged.

Lance sat down, and they went back to silence. He folded his hands on the table, looking around, while Keith frowned at him. He should have left sooner, but it was too late for regrets now. Now Lance wanted to _talk_ to him. Ugh.

“So, what changed your mind?” Lance asked.

Keith scoffed, taking another swig of his drink. “I'm only here to drink.”

The truth was, Keith wasn't sure why he was there. For Lance, obviously, but he wasn’t sure why. Keith didn’t do feelings for other people, but there he was. Lance looked at him with doe eyes and a goofy smile that nothing could wipe away. Not even Keith being Keith seemed to deter him. Lance flagged down a barmaid for a drink, and Keith sighed. So Lance definitely wasn't going anywhere, now.

“I never caught your name,” Lance said so sweetly.

“I never gave it.” Keith didn't usually give out his name, but from the way this cute boy was looking at him… “Keith.”

Fuck, he was hopeless for a pretty face.

“Keith,” Lance echoed, with a nod. “So, I take it you'll be moving on to the next town in the morning.”

“Yeah.” _Why do you care?_

Lance winked at him. “Better make the most of tonight, then.”

When he said that, Keith expected Lance to try and woo him into bed. In reality, they spent that evening drinking and talking. Keith couldn't remember most of what they talked about. The alcohol haf rotted his brain. But he knew he loved listening to Lance, his voice and his stories. He was drunk, and soft, and there was no hope for Keith now.

Keith eventually stopped drinking, instead letting himself sober up a little. He could remember Lance giggling at nothing, a little too drunk for his own good. Gods, he was cute. Keith needed to ignore his drunk brain. It always wanted what he couldn't have, and this time, Keith would put his foot down, because this time, he had to.

Suitably drunk and tired, the pair stumbled up the stairs to their respective rooms, making their best effort to be quiet. ‘Quiet’ and ‘Lance’ didn't mix very well, but he tried. They reached Keith's room first, but before he could retreat inside, Lance grabbed his wrist. He cupped Keith's face with his free hand. He laughed softly, and leaned in, pressing a soft and sweet kiss to his cheek. Keith felt his face heat up, his heart thudding hard against his ribs.

“Until we meet again, Keith.” Lance smiled at him one last time before walking off.

Keith was left dumbfounded. His fogged mind tried to make sense of what happened. He shook off the thought, instead stumbling into his room and falling into his bed. For the first time, Keith did not suffer from his usual nightmares, his dreams were nothing but soft singing from a voice he could not place.

Come the morning, Keith wasn't sure why, but he hoped he would catch Lance before they parted. He knew he was a fool, but he just had to see him, just once. It was unfortunate that Lance had already gone, left an hour or so before Keith even woke up. Keith wasn't disappointed about it. He was fine, he didn't care. He stowed the whole night somewhere deep inside his heart, burying it well enough that even he believed he did not care.

Months passed in peace, and Keith had almost forgotten about the pretty blue bard. He had better things to worry about. As long as his coin purse and stomach were full, that was all that mattered. Keith was content in his life. As content as one could be as a hunter. But there was a nagging emptiness in his being. It was nothing new, a hole he filled with coin and simply ignoring it, but through neglect, it had only managed to worsen.

Keith spent time at an inn for the first time in a while, drinking his sorrows away. Unfortunately for him, a bard was performing that evening. A pretty young woman Keith didn't recognise. He considered abandoning his drink and going to his room, but something told him to stay for just a little longer. Fine, he could at least finish his drink.

With nothing better to do, he listened to the bard sing. Her voice was pretty, but that was it. Keith hadn’t found a bard that reached him quite like Lance did. She played her lute so softly, each pluck seeming to play her heart's song. He paid attention to the lyrics at the right time, for something about them resonated within Keith.

She sang about a man, saving her - or the narrator - from a monster. From nowhere came the dashing hero, slaying both the monster and the narrator’s heart. It ended in a plea for the brave hero to look for the narrator, wherever they may be. Keith raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink as he listened.

Keith knew the song. Not because he had heard it before, but because he knew whose tale it was. It was the tale of him and Lance. His jaw dropped in complete disbelief. He had heard many songs of similar situations, heroes saving those in distress while the narrator fell in love with them. Keith rolled his eyes, knowing it was a dramatization of events, but this time, it was different.

He waited for the young woman to finish her song, before pulling her to one side. She looked a touch frightened looking at him, trying to calm herself down quickly. Keith didn’t care much about frightening her, but it did bother him a little to be looked at like some kind of monster.

“Where did you hear that song? Where did you get it from? I have to know.” Keith stared down at her, still gripping her wrist.

She pulled her wrist free. “I heard it from a fellow bard, a young man, dressed in all blue.”

 _Then it was Lance._ “Where can I find him?”

“As far as I'm aware, he left for Crow’s Perch.”

“Thank you.” He turned to walk away.

“I wish you luck in finding him. I believe you need to hear the song from him.” He could feel her smiling, but he said nothing.

He went back to his room to prepare his supplies before going to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. He was quite the ride away from Novigrad, much to his chagrin, and there was no guarantee he would see Lance on his way.

As he travelled the next day, he would hum the song to himself. The melody was soothing, and something about it made him soft inside. Maybe Keith would go into an inn, see Lance sing it, and call him out on it. He wished he could remember more about that night, what Lance told him about himself, if anything. Perhaps that would’ve been a clue.

Keith found himself singing the song a lot more often than he wanted to, especially when he was alone, or - heaven forbid - felt lonely. He had to admit, just to himself, that since meeting Lance, he had become lonely. He understood companionship, the feeling of being wanted, even if just for an evening. It wasn’t something he was exactly used to. In every place he visited in passing, he hoped he would catch up to Lance. But, he didn’t.

\--

Keith hated Novigrad. It was called a free city, but only as it stood free from other rule. In truth, it was an oppressive hole, especially if one wasn’t a normal human. Witches hid in slums, banding together as best they could. Dwarf-owned business would often find themselves suddenly torched to the ground. The hated for nonhumans wasn’t exclusive to Novigrad, but it was at its worst in this city.

No other city did what Novigrad did, or at least, not to this magnitude. Upon entry, he saw a druid tied to a stake, a pile of timber at his feet, while a witch hunter preached about who knows what. The druid was begging for his life, struggling against the restrains. Keith kept going. He wasn’t allowed to interfere with matters like this. It went against the witchers’ code. That didn’t mean he wanted to see it, or that he liked seeing it.

He asked around for Lance at dodgy inns and even dodgier taverns, but no one had seen him. Keith believed them; it was hard not to notice a guy dressed in all blue. It was irritating, but it couldn’t be helped.

Keith wanted to find Lance, but he wasn’t entirely sure what his plan was. He felt oddly attracted to him, somehow the song and the person remaining stuck in his being. Maybe he just wanted to tell him off for writing a song about him, or maybe he wanted something more from him. Keith pushed that thought away; a bard would not want a witcher, not outside of romanticised tales.

There was no sign of Lance anywhere in Novigrad, but he did hear something about an annoying bard. Keith knew it had to be Lance, despite knowing every damn bard was annoying. There were rumours he was due to appear at the Rosemary and Thyme, and Keith sighed in relief. He would be here in two days’ time, according to the owner. Excellent.

In the meantime, he had time to kill around Novigrad. He didn’t want to stay here for too long, and he had enough coin to stay in some rat-infested hole for a couple of days. Sure, he could have stayed somewhere else, but he did not fear for his life. Witch hunters did not scare him. That evening from his room, he could hear some bard trying to replicate _that song_ , and Keith ended up just being annoyed. He needed to hear it from Lance himself.

Come the next morning, Keith was already antsy from boredom. He wasn’t the type to sit still, but thankfully, there was always work for a witcher in a world of monsters. There was a cave, north of Novigrad, with a golem in it. Keith’s job was to take it out and fetch the treasure it guarded. He wasn’t a delivery boy, but he needed to do _something._

He rode on Red, thinking to himself. Lance might not show up, and Keith might never see him again. Which suited Keith. He was fine without anyone. He rolled his eyes. Who was he trying to fool? Keith was needy. He wasn’t supposed to get attached, but maybe Lance would be worth bending the rules for. That is, if the song was honest, and not the blatant cash grab it likely was.

After his hunt, and everything was loaded into Red’s saddlebags, Keith made his way back to the city. He was exhausted, idly stroking Red’s mane as she walked slowly. He hummed to himself as he did, unable to stop humming that stupid song. After only hearing it a handful of times, he wasn’t entirely sure of the lyrics, but he did know a couple of the lines of the end. He sang to himself quietly.

A voice nearby carried on the song, finishing it off for him, a voice all too familiar. Keith pulled Red’s reins hard, taking a short, sharp breath through his nose. He had completely dropped his guard, and that could have been the death of him. He looked behind him, and blinked at the person who sang with him. Keith dropped from Red and approached the young man in disbelief.

Lance stood there, a sheepish smile on his face, like Keith was the one who had caught _him_ . Keith grabbed his hands, squeezing gently, not sure where to even _begin_. He could have yelled at him over the song - the Gods knew he wanted to - but he didn’t. He could have asked why Lance had written that damn song, but he should have known why. For the first time in Keith’s life, he was at a loss for words. He stared at Lance in silence, waiting for something to happen. He just wasn’t sure what.

“So, you did find me in the end,” Lance said, his voice close to a whisper.

“What makes you think I was looking for you?” Keith asked, with a considerably large frown.

“Well, the look on your face said it all.” He let go of one of Keith’s hands for a moment to boop his nose, then slipped his hand back in. “Besides, I’ve just been to Novigrad, and a few people stopped me. Said a scary-looking witcher was looking for a bard in all blue, and… well, you know.”

Wow, Keith felt utterly called out. He looked away, cheeks puffed and pink, and Lance only laughed softly. He took a step closer, almost closing the gap between them, and Keith thought he was going to die. He’d faced griffins, werewolves, wyverns, all sorts of creatures. But the idea of someone so close to him was absolutely terrifying.

With Lance, however, it felt terrifying, but also _right_. Keith kept looking away, his eyes trained on something else, unused to such gentle affection. Lance tried to catch his attention, but to no avail. Keith couldn’t face him, not when his heart was going this crazy. Whoever said witchers felt nothing had clearly never met a witcher.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever performed the song for you. You’ve probably heard it a thousand times, but if you want--”

“Yes.” Keith cleared his throat, before glancing over at Lance. “I mean, sure. Sounds good.”

If Lance noticed how quick Keith was to answer, he was at least polite enough not to mention it. Figuring their location wasn’t the best place for this, they returned to Novigrad. Keith helped Lance on Red, before hopping on himself. Lance wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning his chin on Keith’s shoulder, idly chattering about who-knows-what. Could someone miss a voice? Keith had missed Lance’s, as silly as that sounded.

Lance was staying at the Rosemary and Thyme, where he was set to perform tomorrow evening. He arrived a day ahead of schedule, he told Keith, but they still had a room free for him. He invited Keith into his room, and _damn_ , it looked nice. Keith was used to dingy, rat-infested holes, so this was a nice change of pace.

“Sit, sit, I’ll set the mood,” Lance said, rummaging around the room.

“The mood?” Keith quirked an eyebrow.

“Come on, Keith. What’s the point of this without showmanship, without pizzazz?”

And Keith suddenly remembered why he hated bards. He did as he was told, pulling up a chair and sitting down at he waited for Lance to set up. He managed to find candles, and got the little fireplace going. Ah, trust a romantic to set a scene, Keith thought. Once satisfied, Lance pulled up a chair and sat by the fireplace, encouraging Keith to scoot his seat closer to him.

Lance plucked a couple of notes on his lute, testing the chords before playing. Keith had heard a few renditions of the song, passing through hamlets and towns, but none like this. No one could capture the heart of it like Lance could, looking Keith in the eye as he sang. A small smile graced Lance’s lips as he played, making Keith’s heart melt. He glanced away whenever he did, wanting to calm his stomach.

The song was familiar, yet so new to Keith’s ears. He thought he would tire of listening to it, but he never did. Especially not now, when it was Lance singing so softly to him. He finished the song, though kept playing the melody, biting his lip.

“There’s a line that completes it all, that I’ve--” he took a breath, uncharacteristically nervous, “that I’ve never played for anyone. And I’m trying to decide if I should play it.”

“I’d like to hear it,” Keith offered. “I can’t offer you advice, though.”

Lance strummed, still chewing his lip. He stopped for a second, as if still fighting with himself, before whispering something to himself. He went back to playing, looking Keith in the eye with more intensity than he had ever done before.

“It’s... okay, it’s no my best work, but here goes.” Lance took a deep breath before he carried on.

The ending of the song was a soft confession, a faltered whisper of love for the hero. He looked like he was no longer breathing, watching Keith in silence. He stopped strumming, frozen, waiting for some kind of reaction. Keith had no idea what to say. He had found plenty of people infatuated with him, but none who had fallen in _love_ with him.

He got out of his chair and Lance looked up at him, letting out a soft gasp and holding out his hand as some attempt to stop Keith from going. But he wasn’t going anywhere, instead stepping closer to Lance. He crouched down to the bard’s level, gently prying the lute from his hands. Lance was hesitant to let go, but he let it happen, and Keith was so careful when he put it on the floor by his chair.

He pulled off his gloves, his bare fingers brushing along Lance’s cheek before holding his face. Keith had never seen a blue so vivid as he did in Lance’s eyes, nor had he seen a pink as pretty as on Lance’s face. Keith was so soft, he couldn’t handle it. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned in, pressing his lips against Lance’s.

Lance let out a confused squeak before putting his hand on Keith’s neck. He pulled Keith in closer, toying with the hair at the back of his neck. Lance’s lips were so soft, Keith could kiss him forever. He pulled away, brushing his thumb against Lance’s cheek, heart going wild in his chest.

Lance broke into a smile, staring Keith right in the eyes. Keith had been kissed before - and done far more than that - but he had never been so intimate with another person. He felt so vulnerable, but Keith didn’t care right now.

“So, master witcher,” Lance hummed, “am I worth the chase?”

Keith brought their foreheads together, sighing softly. For once it was okay to just let his guard down, just in this moment. “Yeah. I’d say so.”


End file.
